


Transplant

by Dolimir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville has an unexpected guest and it turns his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transplant

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story in 2005 and had only read four of the books at that time.

_Transplant  
n 1: an operation moving an organ from one organism (the donor) to another (the recipient); "2: the act of uprooting and moving a plant to a new location; v 1: lift and reset in another soil or situation; 2: be transplantable; 3: transfer from one place or period to another._

There were mornings when the air was so crisp and the sun was shining so brightly that Neville could almost forget there was a war being fought outside the heavily warded grounds of Hogswarts. Not directly outside, of course; and he supposed if he were being succinct it couldn’t even really be considered a war anymore. He shook his head and gently chastised himself. He had told himself that he wasn’t going to indulge in wishful thinking anymore. Even though Harry had defeated Voldemort, the Dark Lord’s followers persisted in carrying out his cause. No doubt because they knew if they didn’t, they’d be spending the rest of their lives in Azkaban. What did the Yanks say? Better to go out swinging?

Dew gathered on the cuffs of his trousers as he walked down the hill to the greenhouse he liked to think of as his. He bypassed several greenhouses used for growing vegetables for the refugees that resided within the school walls.

Most of Hogwarts’ refugees consisted of Muggle relatives, unfortunate innocents brought into a war they barely understood, and freed house elves. Hermione had armed all the strike units with extra socks, a spell to break the familial bonds and instructions to send the newly freed creatures to the school. The mixture of Muggles unused to magic and house elves desperate to serve had caused all sorts of chaotically humorous situations.

Neville entered the greenhouse and removed his shoes, taking a moment as he always did to revel in the feeling of dirt between his toes.

Even though people called him a hero for his actions during the battle where Harry killed Voldemort, Neville truly believed that he did more to aid the war effort with his gardening skills than his magic skills. Severus… He smiled to himself as he thought the name. No longer Professor or even Snape, no longer the man who terrorized him during potions class, but a trusted friend and colleague. Severus was honestly impressed with the quality of Neville’s plants, herbs and magical flora. Knowing that his efforts were appreciated by Severus and Hermione in their work was all he needed to continue his endeavors. It was a solitary existence, working in the greenhouse, but it kept him from having to look into the eyes of most of his friends and seeing the faint hint of fear that clung to them whenever he was around.

He took his time inspecting the young mandrake roots, smiling as he always did when he remembered his first encounter with them. Their cries hadn’t made him faint since his first year. Despite his initial hesitancy with them, he discovered he had a natural gift for producing quality mandrakes. Pomona had been very impressed before…

Neville let the thought float away. He didn’t like to dwell on the dead, for doing so only made him angry and when he got angry…

He shook his head again to clear his thoughts. He frowned, not understanding why he seemed to be dwelling on pre-war nostalgia.

He patted one of the wandering ivy tendrils and watched as it shuddered with pleasure. Its foliage was starting to turn purple and it would only be a few more days before he would need to start culling the choicest leaves for drying.

A muffled cough broke the stillness. He immediately moved to the Wheezing Hydrangeas, but all indications were that they wouldn’t be ready for plucking for another month. Another cough echoed the first one and he turned to the back of the greenhouse, narrowing his eyes as he tried to peer into the unused corners. Someone had violated the sanctity of his space.

Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he held it in what he hoped was a threatening manner. “You there. Come out slowly and there’ll be no need for violence.”

He counted twenty of his heartbeats, but no one came forward.

“You won’t like it if I have to come back there to get you,” he tried again.

Still no one revealed themselves.

Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, he debated the wisdom of calling for help, but decided against it. In all likelihood, his had probably stumbled upon a pair of Muggle teenagers looking for a quiet place to snog and were now too embarrassed to step forward.

“Lumos,” he whispered.

He held his lit wand in front of him as he advanced, but nothing appeared to be out of place. When he reached the back wall, he turned and put his shoulders to it; waving his wand back and forth between the two corners and wishing the sun was higher in the sky.

He was beginning to believe he had imagined the noise, when he heard it again. Swirling to his right, he noticed a pile of quivering rags.

Taking a step forward, he knelt beside the trembling figure. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

Nothing in the pile acknowledged his presence and he began to wonder if a former student’s abandoned familiar was napping in the tattered cloth.

Thinking out loud, more than making conversation, he said, “Perhaps I should--”

A skeletal hand shot out from the pile and gripped his knee, not hard, but enough to startle him into falling on his bum. Taking a shuddering breath, he looked at the dirty hand but was unable to tell if his intruder was male or female, or even get any idea as to how old the creature was.

“Are you hurt?”

Part of the pile shook, and Neville guessed it was the creature’s head.

“I really should--”

The hand on his knee trembled visibly in fear.

Neville quickly made his decision and tucked his wand back into his robe pocket. “First things first then. Can you sit up?”

Watching the creature closely in case it decided to attack, Neville thought the head region might have nodded, but he wasn’t sure. He reached forward to help, but the creature shrank back and moaned as if anticipating pain. Neville raised both of his hands in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

It took the creature several tries but it did finally manage to sit itself upright. Neville blinked in stunned disbelief as he realized the emaciated creature was human, although he still couldn’t decipher its gender. The figure was nothing but skin pulled tightly over bones. Grime encrusted every inch of it and Neville couldn’t even tell what color skin or hair it possessed.

Once the creature was settled with its back against the wall, Neville decided to try and get some answers. “What’s your name?”

The creature trembled, but didn’t reply.

A sad thought came to Neville. “Do you know your name?”

The head shook negatively.

“Do you know how you got here?”

Again, it shook its head.

“Do you have any idea where you are?”

“S-s-s-s-s-f-f-f-f.” The creature’s voice sounded torn as if was unused to doing anything but screaming.

“Safe?”

When the creature nodded, Neville smiled. “Yes, you are safe. I swear it.” Feeling better about his predicament, he decided to proceed as gently as he could. Dumbledore had never been known for turning his back on a refugee and neither was Neville. “Would you like some water?”

Grey eyes pinned him with desperate want.

Pleased at being able to communicate, Neville stood. “I’ll just--”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n.”

For a second, he stood, confused, but understanding quickly dawned. “I won’t leave the greenhouse. I swear. I just want to get you some water. Okay?”

The creature didn’t respond.

“There’s a cup by the sink not seven paces from here. I swear that’s as far as I’ll go.”

With what appeared to be great reluctance, the figure finally nodded.

Moving with great deliberation, Neville got the water and returned. He knelt beside the figure and held the mug, patiently waiting for the creature to make the first move. It only took a few second for the creature to raise both hands and grasp the old tin. Neville cupped his hand beneath the mug and helped the creature guide it to its mouth. As he withdrew his hand, its trembling became more pronounced and the mug dropped to the dirt floor. The creature immediately started rocking back and forth in distress and keening.

“It’s okay. No really, it is.” Neville lunged forward to grab the mug, spun and raced to the sink. He filled it and knelt once again beside the figure. “Here. Here. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He guided the mug to where he believed the creature’s mouth was and tried not to start as filthy hands clasped his.

“Little sips. We don’t want you to be sick. That’s right. There’s plenty where this came from.”

The creature obeyed, its eyes conveying wariness, yet gratitude at the same time. When it was sated, it leaned back against the wall.

Neville was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed. He hadn’t had a lot of interaction with healthy people of late and he was pretty sure he wasn’t the best person to help someone so damaged. “Are you sure that…”

The creature’s tremors became more pronounced and Neville lifted one hand to let it know that he was dropping the line of inquiry.

“Are you hungry?”

The grey eyes hesitantly met his. “P…P…P…”

“Okay. Shhh. Okay.” Neville leaned back a little and called out softly. “Tinker!”

A tiny house elf apparated in fronted of him. “Yes, Master Neville?”

“Would you be so kind as to bring a small plate of sliced bread, cheese and fruit?”

“Yes, sir.”

After the house elf disappeared, Neville sighed and turned back to his guest. “I’ve been trying to break Tink of calling me Master, but I’m beginning to think it’s a lost cause.”

A second later, Tinker returned with a plate laden with food.

“Thank you, Tinker.” Neville reached forward and took the plate from the elf.

“Thank you, Mmmmeville. Tinker is happy to serve.” With that the little elf disappeared again.

When Neville looked toward the creature, he was surprised to see a faint glint of amusement in its eyes.

“Well, yes. Quite. I do believe Meville may be progress after all.” He passed a slice of apple to the creature. The creature looked at it yearningly, but made no move to take it. “It’s okay. You can have it. It’s safe.”

It only took a moment for hunger to win out over caution and the creature slowly stretched its hand forward, as if expecting it to be slapped away. Neville placed the fruit piece in its hand and watched, slightly embarrassed, as tears appeared in the creature’s eyes. It didn’t gobble the food like Neville expected, but instead ate it with an almost excruciating slowness. Before it finished chewing the last of the slice, Neville handed it another piece.

For nearly a half hour, Neville fed the creature, letting it take its own time. Even though there were several slices of food left, the creature finally stopped accepting the slices.

“I don’t think you ate enough to make Tink happy.”

The creature remained silent and looked somewhat chastised, although it made no effort to accept another piece.

“What would you think about a bath?”

The creature shook its head.

“We wouldn’t have to leave the greenhouse.”

The creature appeared intrigued.

“I have a barrel. Of rainwater. I could heat it up for you. Tink could bring soap.”

For a moment, the creature made no movement at all. Just when Neville found himself trying to figure out the best way to apologize, the creature nodded slowly, unsurely.

Neville smiled and nodded happily to himself. He stood slowly, so as not to alarm the creature, and bent forward. “Do you need a hand up?” he asked softly.

The creature nodded and Neville put his hands under its arms and lifted it up as gently as he could. He tried to release the creature once its legs were underneath it, but it was apparently too weak to support its own weight. Neville swung it up in his arms and carried it to the rain barrel, thankful that he had been lifting larger shrubbery for several years -- not that the creature weighed more than a breath. As the creature laid its head on his shoulder, a fierce protectiveness swept through Neville, surprising and warming him at the same time.

Setting it on a workbench beside the rain barrel, he found a stool that would fit perfectly inside.

“Tinker!” he called out, almost under his breath.

“How may Tinker assist Mmmmeville?”

The creature snorted and Neville grinned. “I need some soap. And a towel. Oh, and probably a washcloth as well. And some of my clothes. Oh, and hair stuff too. You know, shampoo. A brush. Something for tangles. And anything else you can think might be important.”

The house elf nodded once and disappeared.

Neville concentrated on the water. It had taken him forever to master little catrips for personal hygiene, but now that he could do them they were practically second nature. He waved his wand over the water until the faintest of steams arose. He put his elbow in the water and grinned.

“Perfect.” He turned toward the creature. “Umm. Do you…that is…should I…”

The creature lowered its eyes and nodded.

Neville took a step forward and lifted the filthy, overly worn top over the creature’s head. He tossed it to one side and reached for the oversized pants, reminding him of Harry when he first arrived at Hogwarts, but the creature put his hand on his. Neville stilled instantly.

“You can trust me,” Neville whispered. “I won’t harm you. I swear on my Gran’s grave.”

The trembling returned, but the creature finally nodded. Neville slipped the rags over the creature’s knobby hipbones and down its knees. “Well, that answers that question, doesn’t it?” He blushed as he lifted the trembling man into the water.

Tinker returned with a large stack of items and set it on the worktable. It took one look at the rags the man had been wearing, wrinkled its tiny little nose and apparated them away.

Neville took the soap and a washcloth and proceeded to get both wet. A part of him, that sounded a lot like his Gran, suggested that he should let the man wash in peace, but another part that sounded exactly like Hermione said if he turned his back the man would probably drown.

As gently as he could, Neville began to clean the man’s right hand, taking his time as he washed each bruised and bloody knuckle. When he was done with the hand, he slowly worked his way up the arm and to his shoulders. He moved behind the man and started cleaning his back. It took him several moments to realize that what he thought were stubborn dirt patches were actually layers of bruises. He mentally chastised himself to be gentler. After the back was cleaned, he worked his way to the man’s left side and began washing his shoulder, his arm and hand.

Whispering under his breath, the dirty water became clean again as a soft plop of wet dirt materialized in his compost pile. Neville tested the water again and warmed it just a bit more. With what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he tenderly began washing the man’s face.

As the dirt washed away, Neville realized he recognized the man before him. While he appeared several years older, a mere shade of the boy who haunted his dreams, Neville instantly knew the identity of the man who was leaning ever so slightly into his hand.

He’s supposed to be dead, he thought absurdly. Obviously, the reports of Draco Malfoy’s death had been slightly exaggerated.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Neville eased his tired body into his favorite rocking chair, and experienced a familiar, yet strangely reassuring, twinge of guilt. If his Gran were still alive, she would no doubt lecture him on the proper care and use of family heirlooms. After everything Neville had been through during the war, he wondered if he would have finally been able to stand up to her. Despite his having cleared a battlefield single-handedly, he highly doubted it.

As much as he loved his grandmother, she had always treated him like an eleven-year-old boy with just enough magical ability to keep from being classified a squib. Of course, there were days when he still felt a lot like that little boy. But still, he’d like to pretend he would have stayed firm on his position to keep the chair in the greenhouse if confronted. After all, it made sense to be comfortable in the one place he felt safe and happy.

Slowly, but surely, he was getting better about not letting various guilts eat at him. Sort of.

He snorted once in amusement, then quickly focused on Malfoy to make sure he hadn’t disturbed the sleeping man. He needn’t have worried. A troll bashing through the greenhouse walls wouldn’t have awakened Malfoy from his slumber. Neville wondered when the last time was that Malfoy had truly slept.

He had been fairly proud of himself for remembering enough of his transfiguration spells to convert his old cot into a full-sized bed with a reasonably comfortable mattress, if he did saw so himself. Minerva would have been…

Neville shook his head and lost himself in the slow rise and fall of Malfoy’s chest. He knew he should probably tell someone in the castle about Malfoy’s arrival. Yet while he knew he could remedy the situation in a heartbeat, he felt no compunction to do so.

Malfoy had all but said he felt safe in the greenhouse. Not in the castle.

With him.

Neville Longbottom.

Neville shook his head in disbelief as he tried to wrap himself around that idea. A part of him wondered why he was having trouble with the concept. After all, Malfoy wasn’t the enemy. He had joined Dumbledore’s Army in his sixth year. He had still been an arrogant prat, but he wasn’t a Death Eater, no matter how many times Ron had used the epitaph.

The last time anyone had seen Malfoy had been during a strategy meeting just before Malfoy and Justin Finch-Fletchley had gone on a re-con mission. Only Justin had returned, although the Hufflepuff had been so severely wounded that he later succumbed to his injuries. However, he had managed to gasp out that Malfoy was dead.

Neville wondered if Justin truly believed that to be the case or if he had abandoned Draco and tried to save himself. Based on Justin’s declaration, the decision had been made not to mount a rescue mission. Shivering, Neville wondered what that decision had cost Malfoy and if that was one of the reasons Malfoy didn’t want to go into the castle. Even if he didn’t remember the reason why, could he know on some innate level that someone he trusted had betrayed him?

One thing was for certain, whoever had held Malfoy for the last two years had not been kind to him. He hadn’t received any special treatment because of who his father had been.

Neville could practically hear Ron say that Malfoy deserved exactly what he got.

Neville sighed softly to himself. While he knew Ron had good cause to dislike Malfoy, Neville didn’t. Oh, sure, during the first week at Hogwarts Malfoy had found his rememberall and refused to give it back, but Neville didn’t hold a grudge. After all, everyone had been jockeying for their position in the overall pecking order, and Harry had gone out of his way to get it back. Besides, fellow Gryffindors had treated Neville even worse – all in the name of fun or pranks or the greater good. Even Hermione, whom he adored, had hexed him at the end of their first year in order to keep him from raising the alarm during the Sorcerer’s Stone Incident. Any prank Malfoy might have pulled which Neville had inadvertently been caught in was either because he had been standing too close to Harry or because he was a Gryffindor in general. It had never been personal.

In fact, after Malfoy joined the DA, there were several times when Malfoy had helped him with various tasks around the greenhouse. Malfoy had been well on his way to becoming a Potions Master. He always liked to have his ingredients dried just so and often helped Neville with the process. True, almost all their conversations had been about plants and potions, but Malfoy had never insulted him. He often told bad Gryffindor jokes, but hadn’t been the least bit offended when Neville retaliated with like Slytherin jokes. Not only that, he always bowed to Neville’s plant expertise. They had been good working companions.

But that didn’t explain the surge of protectiveness that filled Neville whenever he looked at the bruised and battered Slytherin. Nor did it explain why he hadn’t told those in the castle that Malfoy was alive.

Was it because Malfoy needed him? Or was it because he needed someone other than Tinker not to be afraid of him?

*-*-*-*-*-*

Neville awoke with a severe crick. Yawning, he stretched his neck as far as he could to the right and then to the left. He grinned as the bones popped, remembering how Ginny Weasley used to squeal in disgust whenever any of the boys in the Gryffindor common room did the same thing. One would have thought that with six brothers she wouldn’t have minded so much, but she did, which meant, of course, they all did it every chance they got.

He blinked as he took in his surroundings, then blinked again as he remembered why he had slept in the greenhouse in the first place. His gaze immediately sought the spot where Malfoy lay and wasn’t too surprised when he found grey eyes carefully studying him.

“Good morning.”

Malfoy blinked once.

“Are you hungry?”

Malfoy’s head inclined ever so slightly toward him.

“I don’t know if you’re up to meat yet, but I think Tinker should be able to wrestle up something for you.” Neville thought he momentarily saw gratitude in Malfoy’s eyes, but it quickly disappeared behind a countenance that revealed nothing.

After asking Tinker for a tray for breakfast, Neville made his morning ablutions. When he returned, Tinker had already arranged the food in front of Malfoy, who was sitting on the edge of the cot staring at the food. Nothing appeared to be touched.

Sitting back in his chair, Neville took a moment to study the other man. Malfoy tried to meet his eyes, but couldn’t.

“Too many choices?” Neville asked quietly, with an understanding that surprised him.

Malfoy nodded once.

Neville reached forward and picked up a bowl of hot porridge. “Sugar?”

Malfoy nodded once again.

“And cream?”

“P…p…”

Without waiting for Malfoy to finish the word, Neville poured a generous amount of cream onto the porridge, pleased that Malfoy was making an attempt to communicate. Sweeping up a spoon with his left hand, he placed it in the bowl and handed it to Malfoy.

“Will you be able to--” He let the question die unasked as a spark of the old Malfoy reasserted itself.

In an overabundance of caution, he stood and placed the bowl in the middle of Malfoy’s lap. Once he was confident the bowl wouldn’t tip, he sat back in his chair and prepared his own porridge, trying to ignore the single tear that ran down Malfoy’s face as he struggled to grip the spoon. It was obvious that Malfoy hadn’t used utensils in a really long time, but while his progress was slow, he managed to eat without spilling anything on himself.

Halfway through the meal, as circumspect as he could, Neville placed a piece of toast on Malfoy’s lap as well and smiled when Malfoy began to nibble on it.

In many ways, watching Malfoy eat reminded him of watching Harry eat after he had beaten Voldemort. The final battle had been hard fought and Harry had suffered multiple injuries. While he had healed from most of them, he still walked with a limp. Hermione had convinced him to use a walking stick, saying it made him look rather distinguished. A pitiful salve to a young man’s pride, but he had agreed.

As Malfoy got to the bottom of his bowl, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Neville removed the bowl and crust from Malfoy’s lap and guided him back down onto the cot. Malfoy made a noise of protest, but Neville shushed him and gently petted his hair.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. Listen to your body and rest.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

For several days, Malfoy did nothing but eat and sleep. Neville helped him make his ablutions then put him back to bed.

On the second day, he had Tinker start crushing vitamins into Malfoy’s morning porridge. He had even convinced Malfoy to let him perform a few episkey spells. As time progressed, Malfoy slowly showed signs of healing. Neville desperately wanted to bring a medi-witch to the greenhouse, but whenever he began to suggest it, Malfoy would start to tremble in fear, and so he continued, doing the best he could. Thankfully, many of the plants Neville grew were ones with healing properties.

While Malfoy’s body showed great improvements, the same could not be said for his memory. When Neville had told Malfoy his name, he had simply nodded, accepting the fact, but showing no signs of having remembered it for himself.

The first time Neville had to leave the greenhouse, he had taken the time to explain in great detail why he needed to make an appearance in the castle proper. He swore, several times, that he would tell no one of Malfoy’s presence. Malfoy had nodded in understanding, but his eyes held nothing but terror. When Neville returned two hours later, he had found Malfoy rocking and keening in the same spot where he had originally found him.

It had taken a long time to calm the traumatized man. Neville had resorted to picking him up and rocking him to sleep in his Gran’s chair, while he petted the other man’s hair. When, at last, Malfoy had fallen to sleep, Neville had tried to lay him back in his bed, but Malfoy wouldn’t loosen his grip on Neville’s shirt. Sighing, Neville slipped under the covers beside the sleeping man. He watched as Draco’s body slowly relaxed in slumber.

Draco.

Neville closed his eyes briefly when he realized that he no longer thought of him as Malfoy. The Malfoy he used to know was haughty and spoiled - an aristocrat through and through. But the man he had grown to know over the last few days was a gentle soul and he knew he could no longer hold onto memories that were no longer relevant.

Malfoy would never admit to being scared. Draco had no such qualms. Malfoy would never have needed Neville, but Draco did. And while he didn’t want to admit it, he knew that he needed Draco as well.

The days grew into weeks and Neville was heartened to see Draco’s body start to blossom under his care. Slowly, but surely, Draco gained weight and no longer looked like the walking dead.

Draco had taken to following Neville around the greenhouse. Together they culled leaves, planted sproutlings and tended the various greeneries – doubling Neville’s productivity. Every night, Neville would crawl into bed beside Draco and watch him as he slipped into slumber. Neville no longer felt guilty about not telling people in the castle that he had a companion, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel remorse on another matter.

Before Draco’s mission had gone bad, there had been rumors, rumors about Draco and Harry. About how childhood rivalries had disappeared and were replaced by other stronger feelings.

While Neville was finally content in his life, he knew he couldn’t continue to hold onto this secret. And yet, he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to give it up either.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Neville knew that Harry’s fireplace was set to allow him entrance, but he decided to apparate instead as it gave him a chance to look at the gardens around Grimmauld Place. Since the war officially ended, Harry had become something of a recluse. While the Ministry wanted him to become an Auror, and Neville remembered a time when Harry wanted the same thing as well, Harry had politely declined the appointment. The Ministry had made the mistake of letting Harry know he was too valuable to risk in the field and Harry had no desire to while away his time behind a desk or acting as a figurehead.

For a brief period, Harry had considered playing professional Quidditch, but as much as he loved the game, he was tired of being in the limelight.

Sirius had left Grimmauld to Harry and so Harry had taken to being a gentleman of leisure, spending his time in the garden and playing with his train sets which now encompassed most of the bottom floor.

The wards that surrounded the house were some of the strongest ones known to wizarddom, including a spectacular impenetrable charm. Neville happened to know that whenever Hermione came across a new protection spell that she always threw it into the mix guarding Harry.

“Neville Longbottom,” he announced once he reached the gate.

The gate swung open and Neville was momentarily taken aback by the spectacle that was Harry’s gardens. For the briefest of moments, Neville felt a twinge of jealousy, but clamped down on it quickly. After all, he raised flowers and plants used in the war effort, while Harry planted for pleasure.

Although he knew he had been announced the moment he stepped through the gate, Neville couldn’t help but linger. The flowers were spectacular and he couldn’t resist kneeling beside the gigantic munching mums. He noticed a few tiny gnome boots near the plants roots and shook his head in wonder.

“Miracle Grow.”

Neville turned his head and accepted a cup of hot tea from Harry. “I beg your pardon.”

“Padmil went on holiday to the Colonies and brought some back with her. I had no idea how it would affect magical plants, but the mums adore it.” Harry took a sip of his own tea.

“So you’re interspersing the mums throughout the garden?” Neville stood and surveyed the gardens, answering his own question as he spotted the plants in various hues.

“Yes. In fact, I haven’t seen a gnome in ages.”

“Miracle Grow, you say?”

“Yes. Would you like to take some home with you when you go? I’m now ordering it directly from the manufacturer in quantity.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Neville spent the next several minutes following Harry around the house and listening to the war hero glow with shy pride about some of his horticultural accomplishments.

“But listen to me prattle on.” Harry reddened slightly with embarrassment. “You didn’t come here to visit my gardens.”

Neville grinned at him. “Actually, it was one of the reasons I dropped by, but you are right that I do have another purpose.”

Harry gestured him toward a pretty white gazebo. As Neville took a seat, he found himself tongue-tied about how to broach the subject at hand. Harry waited patiently.

“I’d like for you to return to Hogwarts with me,” Neville finally blurted. Harry’s eyes darkened, but Neville raised his hand to stay the automatic refusal he knew was coming. “Not inside the castle. Just to my greenhouse.”

“Why?”

“I…I’d like to consult with you about something.”

“You couldn’t have just brought it with you?”

“No-o-o.” Neville shook his head. “It’s too…delicate to expose to the regular world at the moment.”

Harry closed his eyes and released a breath, which made his shoulders sag slightly. “I suppose in a day or two I could--”

“No, Harry. It needs to be today.”

“What? Why?”

“Please, Harry. I can’t explain. I’m asking you to trust me.”

Neville could see the battle waging behind Harry’s glasses. A very large part of Harry wanted to tell Neville no, to rage at his audacity in trying to drag him from his sanctuary, but no matter how badly Harry didn’t want to go, he still nodded his assent.

“Thank you,” Neville whispered.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Even though Harry hated to apparate more than Neville did, they decided the best course of action was to apparate to Hogsmead and walk directly to Neville’s greenhouse, that way they could circumvent having to go into the castle proper.

“I…came across this…specimen a few weeks ago.” Neville hated trying to be so circumspect, but he had no idea how to broach the subject with Harry. “It was practically dead. I wasn’t sure I could revitalize it. I thought about asking some of the others for help, but it was so fragile I wasn’t sure it could take any kind of manhandling. It seems to be flourishing now, but I know it’s still not fully recovered.”

“And what exactly do you think I can do that you can’t?”

“I don’t know that you can do anything, Harry. I just don’t know who else to consult without destroying it in the process.”

Harry nodded, not happy, but at least somewhat appeased.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Neville stopped before they reached the greenhouse’s main entrance and turned to face Harry. “I know I’m bringing you blind into this situation and for that I’m truly sorry. But I must ask one more favor before we go inside.”

Harry inclined his head, indicating his willingness to listen.

“Don’t speak unless you can do so in a whisper.”

Confusion swirled within his green eyes, but Harry nodded anyway.

Neville opened the door and ushered Harry inside, pulling the door shut behind them and spell locking it. For a moment, the entire greenhouse was deathly silent, but then Tinker popped in before them. “Ma…ville is home. Tinker will bring refreshments.” And with that the house elf was gone.

“Maville?”

Neville sighed. “It’s a long story.”

As Neville spoke, a blond head appeared amongst the Wheezing Hydrangeas. Draco smiled hugely in greeting, but the smile disappeared when he realized Neville wasn’t alone.

“It’s okay,” Neville called out softly. He closed the distance between them, trusting Harry to stay put, and gently placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “This is a friend of mine. His name is Harry. He’s going to see if he can help me with the problems we’ve been having with our snapping dragons. Will you come over and say hello?”

Draco shook his head minutely, refusing to look at Harry.

“Please. He may be here for a few days.”

Draco shuddered and laid his forehead on Neville’s shoulder. Without thought, Neville ran his fingers through Draco’s hair.

“Please? For me?”

Draco’s sigh bordered on the peeved and Neville couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed over his face as the tiniest fraction of Draco’s old personality made an appearance. Draco sighed again and Neville chuckled out loud. “Thank you.”

Taking Draco’s hand in his, Neville gently but firmly dragged him to where the stunned Harry stood. “Draco Malfoy, I’d like you to meet Harry Potter. Harry, this is Draco.”

Harry blinked several times before he offered his hand in greeting. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he whispered.

Draco nodded once, graciously, and tentatively placed his hand in Harry’s. Neville knew Draco was frustrated by his lack of voice, but his manners were impeccable in all other regards.

When he was done with the formal introduction, Draco’s grey eyes looked pleadingly at Neville, silently asking if he could leave. “Yes, that will be all. Thank you.” Neville added the thanks as an afterthought. “Let me show you the snapping dragons, Harry.” He pulled his stunned friend toward the back of the greenhouse, knowing that he needed to give Harry a moment or two to recover. In the ensuing silence, he nattered about the difficulty they had been having in getting the snaps to relinquish their seeds.

Tinker popped back with a tray of tea and biscuits. Neville handed a mug to Harry, who accepted it automatically.

“He’s supposed to be…”

“Justin was apparently wrong.”

“But that means…that means…”

“Yes.” Neville was sympathetic to Harry’s horror. “I wouldn’t have burdened you with this, but I was always under the impression that you and…I meant that there might have been…”

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. “We were flirting. Everything was so chaotic with the various attacks and trying to find the horcruxes. I think things might have progressed further if…” He was silent for a moment, as if reliving his memories. “He was always pushing my personal boundaries, but once he joined the DA, I was able to let go of all the anger I had been holding inside. I realized that if I could get past the fact that he was an arrogant prick--”

“That he sometimes made sense?”

“Exactly. But we never--”

“Shagged?”

“We never so much as snogged. There were times when I thought we would and times when he stood so close and talked so intimately that I thought we had, but we hadn’t.”

Neville gently tapped the bottom of Harry’s mug and Harry took another sip without thought.

“Does he remember anything?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?”

“His larynx appears to be damaged.”

“So he hasn’t talked at all?”

“Not a word.”

“But his magic…”

“He appears to be able to do some wandless magic.”

“But you said he couldn’t speak.”

“He can’t.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Does Hermione know? She would be absolutely fascinated by--”

“No,” Neville said gently, but firmly. “He’s very skittish, Harry. The last thing he needs is to be poked and prodded like some new specimen.”

Harry hung his head. “You’re right. I know that. I’m just…that is…it’s a bit overwhelming.”

“I know.” Neville closed his eyes briefly, wondering if it had been a mistake to let Harry in the know. “If I had known it wasn’t serious between you two, I wouldn’t have--”

“It was serious, Nev. Don’t get me wrong. We just hadn’t done anything yet. It doesn’t mean that we…that I wouldn’t have. He was just…he was taken before…”

Neville nodded and laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You realize he may never regain his memory.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not to me.”

Harry studied him for several moments and it took every ounce of Neville’s shaky self-confidence not to twitch. “What’s the plan?” Harry asked finally.

Neville leaned against one of his planting tables. “I reckon that he should be allowed to continue to recover at his own pace.”

“But…”

“He was declared dead, Harry. He has nothing. As the last Black heir, you inherited all of Narcissa’s holdings, when the Malfoy estate was seized by the Ministry. Where else does he have to go?”

“I’m not trying to make you give him up, Nev. I was just…curious.”

Neville hung his head, surprised by how upset he had gotten by Harry’s question and by Harry’s insight. Swallowing hard, he looked up into the green eyes of his friend. “Would you like to stay a couple of days?”

“I’d be delighted.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

While Harry wanted to stay in the greenhouse, Neville was able to convince him to go home each night. He had no idea what Harry’s reaction would be to finding out that he slept with Draco. While he was sure Harry would come to understand there was nothing sexual happening between them, he didn’t think he could bear the initial silent accusation in Harry’s eyes.

For Draco’s part, he was not happy to have an intruder within his sanctuary. At first, he did his best to remain scarce, only making an appearance when called. But despite his orneriness, he clung to Neville each night as if afraid he would disappear.

Comforting both men was exhausting.

To make matters worse, on Harry’s second day in the greenhouse, Draco discovered a way to coax the snapping dragons to release their kernels, without any digits being burned or without the plant munching them and rendering them useless.

With a triumphant look, he presented the seeds to Neville, then gave Harry a look that said he was no longer needed.

“That’s hardly hospitable,” Neville chastised quietly.

Looking unrepentant, Draco huffed.

Neville decided to try another approach. “Harry’s been through a lot, Draco. He’s been isolated for quite a while now. Being here is good for him and it doesn’t harm us in any way. You’d be doing a kind deed for someone less fortunate than yourself.”

Draco’s facial features softened slightly.

“He’s not staying forever. But perhaps he could stay a little bit longer?”

The grey eyes told Neville that Draco knew exactly what he was doing, but he relaxed when Draco finally sighed in acquiescence.

“Thank you.” Neville let his pride come through his words of gratitude.

Draco crossed his arms and looked put out, which only made Neville grin. Even as he rolled his eyes, Draco presented his cheek to Neville for his reward and Neville dutifully gave him a peck.

*-*-*-*-*-*

After their chat, Neville noticed that Draco didn’t hide any longer. While he didn’t go out of his way to engage Harry, he did stay in their vicinity, culling leaves and planting seedlings.

The longer he lingered around Harry, the more his previous personality came to the fore. If Harry was planting seedlings, Draco would magically move his trowel just barely out of reach anytime Harry laid it down. Once, he even managed to make all the Wheezing Hydrangeas sneeze at the same time, covering Harry with pollen.

Thankfully, Harry took it all good naturedly. Neville, though, found himself thrilled to find Draco’s mischievousness returning.

As the days progressed, Draco began to silent bully Harry into doing what he wanted, imperiously pointing to the plants that needed tending. Harry would nod obediently, and share a knowing smile with Neville. While neither Draco’s voice nor memory gave any indication of making an appearance, it did become apparent that many of his previous personality traits were returning.

Neville found himself giving the two men more and more room, although it felt as if his heart was cracking a bit each time he did. Draco wasn’t a pet, he would chastise himself. He could, however, acknowledge that Draco had become a beloved friend, something he didn’t really have anymore. Oh, Harry never looked at him any differently after the battle than he did before it. Hermione and Snape treated him like an equal and often engaged him in various activities, but it wasn’t like grabbing a butterbeer with Dean and Seamus in their last year of school. He missed having mates.

He huffed with amusement. Who would have thought that he and Draco would ever be considered mates? And yet, Neville couldn’t help but feel like they were perhaps something more also. But despite the possibility, Neville knew that Harry and Draco had to be given the freedom to explore what could have been.

As it happened, Neville had to meet with Hermione in Diagon Alley to give her the latest batch of pulverized mandrake roots. He made sure that Harry would be at the greenhouse to keep an eye on Draco and told Draco he would only be gone for an hour; however, Hermione claimed he had been avoiding her lately and made him eat lunch with her to catch up on all the latest. And if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit he enjoyed his time with her.

Four hours later he returned to the greenhouse, happily stuffed and filled with praise for the quality and quantity of his last batch of supplies. He had bought a horticulture magazine for Draco, hoping he could convince the man to show him his technique for getting the dragon snaps to give up their magical seeds so that perhaps they could write an article. Neville was tickled at the idea of being published.

He toed off his shoes at the entrance, and made his way back to their living area, placing the magazine on the bed before he went looking for his companions. The sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks.

Draco was leaning against the post by the mimbulus mimbletonia. His hands were loosely wrapped around the wood behind his back. Harry stood before him, his eyes closed, pulling his head back ever so slowly as if he had just bestowed Draco with a tender kiss; a magical moment between two men who were just beginning to explore the what-could-have-beens of a relationship torn asunder.

Neither man noticed him as they only had eyes for each other. As silently as he could, Neville made his way back outside. It wasn’t until he had walked several yards away from the greenhouse that he remembered he had forgotten his shoes just inside the door. He stood for a moment, debating whether he should go back or not and decided against it.

The problem he now faced was that he didn’t know where to go. He really didn’t want to go to the castle as he didn’t think he could handle idle chitchat, and seeing the fear in everyone’s eyes whenever he passed would only serve to remind him why he was destined to be alone.

Sighing, he made his way down to the lake, chastising himself as he went. He couldn’t bloody well feel sorry for himself once the event he had worked so hard to happen had. The kiss was why he brought Harry to the greenhouse in the first place. He wanted both men to be happy and if the scene he had stumbled upon was any indication, he had done a brilliant job in orchestrating it. So why did he feel so fragile? He had no right to stand between such love. Yet he couldn’t help but want a bit of it for himself either.

Sitting on the shore of the lake, he let the sound of the waves sloshing against the rocks lull him into a mindless peace and lost himself in the beauty of the land around him.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Entering the greenhouse after dark, Neville felt slightly guilty for having stayed away so long. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to return any sooner either. Harry and Draco needed time alone, time to discover what exactly they were going to become to each other, and Neville dreaded the feeling of becoming the third wheel.

He noted immediately that the lights were dimmed and felt a stab of panic. Surely Harry wouldn’t have left Draco in the dark. The thought made him pick up his stride as he made his way to the area they had converted into their living space.

A relieved sigh escaped him when he found Harry sleeping in the rocking chair beside the bed, but it also presented him with something of a conundrum. Moving with great deliberateness he sat on the edge of the bed without disturbing Draco. He patted Harry’s knees and gave his friend a small smile when his eyes fluttered open and honed in on him.

“I’m sorry I’m so late.”

Harry nodded. “Draco was worried.”

“Thank you for staying with him,” he whispered.

“It’s the least I could do.” Harry looked slightly uncomfortable. “I guess I should--”

“No. Stay here. It’s late and you hate apparating even under the best of circumstances. I don’t want you splinting yourself because you were too tired to concentrate. I’ll go up to the castle.”

Before he could stand, Harry grabbed for his hand. “Neville.”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Thank you. For today. For--”

“You’re welcome.” Neville nodded and forced a smile.

With each step toward the castle, Neville felt like he was leaving a piece of his heart behind.

*-*-*-*-*-*

“Ma...ville. Maville, wakes up. Please wakes up.”

Neville blinked awake and tried to focus on the little house elf pacing back and forth beside the bed and wringing her hands. “Wha’s wrong, Tinker?”

“Oh, Master. Master Draco is beside himself.”

“What? What happened?” Neville asked the question, even as he grabbed his trousers and jumper.

“Harry Potter said to Tinker, ‘Bring your master, quickly’ and Tinker came right away. But Tinker sees Master Draco. Master Draco is rocking back and forth and crying. Tinker not sees Master Draco act like this for a long time. Youse must hurry.”

“Tell Harry I’m coming.” With that Neville grabbed his wand and sprinted for the door.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Neville heard Draco’s cries as soon as he entered the greenhouse, but they sounded more angry than anguished. He dodged through the various rows of planting tables and found Harry standing several feet away from Draco, his hands out and pleading with Draco to stop.

Draco was standing against the very post where Harry had kissed him. His guttural screams were punctuated by the back of his head slamming rhythmically into the wood. Without bothering to announce himself, Neville stepped between the two men and cupped his left hand behind Draco’s head while pulling Draco closer to his body with his right.

Between one breath and the next, Draco molded his body against Neville’s and snuffled against his jumper.

“What’s gotten you in such a state, love?”

Without warning, Draco pushed himself away from Neville. His hands went to his hips and the old Malfoy sneer was back in full force.

“What did I do?” Neville asked in confusion.

Draco raised one of his hands and angrily waved it around the greenhouse.

“I was up in the castle in my room,” Neville explained, feeling slightly defensive.

Draco repeated the same angry hand gesture between them.

“I got back late and didn’t want Harry to have to walk to Hogsmead to apparate.”

Draco pointed to Harry, then in the direction of the castle.

Neville shifted uncomfortably. “When I first asked for Harry’s help, I told him he didn’t have to go inside the castle.”

Vibrating with anger, Draco spun toward the sleeping area.

“Aren’t you a little old for tantrums?” Neville shouted after him. He looked at Harry and shrugged apologetically. “Honestly, I have no idea what’s gotten into him.”

Before Harry could speak, Draco returned and threw something at Neville’s chest. Fumbling to catch the lightweight item, he realized it was the magazine he had bought the day before.

“Oh. Yes. Well. Quite.”

Draco glared at him, his arms wrapping protectively around his chest.

“I…I…”

“What’s he going on about, Nev?”

Startled, Neville turned partially so he could see Harry, slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten the other man.

“What’s with the magazine?”

“I bought it for Draco. I wanted to see if I could convince him to show me how he coaxed the seeds from the dragon snaps so we could write an article. I’ve always fancied being published.”

“I reckon he doesn’t want to give up his secrets, mate.”

Forgetting himself momentarily, Neville shared a smile with his former roommate. However, their amusement only made Draco angrier. He grabbed the magazine and poked Neville in the chest with it while giving him a pointed look.

Neville sighed and rested his chin against his chest. “What do you want me to say, Draco?”

The magazine fluttered to the ground. When Neville looked up, Draco’s face was full of sadness.

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“What do you mean you didn’t want…?” Harry’s voice showed his confusion. “Oh. Oh, Neville. I…I’m so sorry.”

Neville turned to his friend. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, mate.” Neville tried to keep his tone light, but suspected he was failing spectacularly. “After all, it is one of the reasons I asked you to stay.”

An angry cry reverberated around the greenhouse. Neville took an involuntary step back as he beheld the terrible look on Draco’s face.

Pots and plants began to quiver and rise into the air.

“Not the Fanged Geraniums, Drake! For goodness sakes, it took us weeks to get them to properly root.”

While Draco pointedly ignored him, he did look curiously at the floating pottery.

“I wasn’t pimping you out, love.”

Grey eyes angrily met his and the pots quivered in the air.

“You and Harry were an item before…before you disappeared. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to rediscover those feelings.”

Draco’s gaze sank to the ground and the floating plants returned to their original positions.

“And you have,” Neville whispered.

Draco shook his lowered head and Neville closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and holding him close.

“Yes, you have, love. You and Harry have been meant for each other ever since the moment you originally met. It might have taken you years to realize what fueled the passion between you, but you’ve always been destined to walk beside each other.”

Snuffling against his shirt, Draco shook his head again. Neville chuckled gently, took Draco’s chin in his fingers and moved it until Harry came into their line of sight.

“Tell me you don’t have feelings for Harry. Tell me your breath doesn’t quicken when you see him; that you haven’t imagined everything the two of you could become.”

Grey eyes met green and Neville could feel Draco accept the truth.

“Love is never wrong, dearest. You shouldn’t be afraid to accept the gift of it.”

Draco surprised Neville by clutching him tighter.

Softly, but firmly, Neville removed the arms and took a step back. “You don’t need me anymore, Draco.”

“You’re wrong, mate.”

Neville blinked in surprise as Harry stood beside them. “Perhaps Malfoy never needed you, but Draco certainly does.”

Sighing, Neville closed his eyes. “Harry, you’re not making this any easier.”

“Life isn’t always about easy.”

Several times Neville opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t find the right words to properly speak his heart. Finally, he spun angrily and walked several steps away before returning. “Are you saying you’re willing to walk away from him?”

Draco looked confused as his gaze bounced between the two of them.

“No. I…” Harry sighed. “There’s a part of me that wonders if I could, but I know that I can’t.”

“So then, what? We can’t both have him.”

“And so you’ve decided that you’re just going to do the heroic thing and walk away?”

“What? You’re the only Gryffindor allowed to do the right thing?”

“Who says it’s the right thing?”

“He can’t have both of us?”

“Why not?”

Draco nodded and looked pointedly at him. “Whhhhhhhh?”

Neville barked with laughter as he rubbed both hands over his face. “Because,” he said, sounding as raw as he felt. “Because it’s just not done.”

“When have any of us been known for following the rules, Nev?” Before Neville could respond, Harry continued. “If I had, Voldemort would have defeated me a half dozen times before I finally got rid of the ugly wanker. Draco would have become a Death Eater, and hundreds of people would have died in the final battle if you hadn’t have taken it upon yourself to save everyone’s arses. What’s so different about this?”

“Harry…” Neville closed his eyes and took a deep breath, desperately trying to find the strength he needed to continue this conversation. “Simply put, you’ve never had any feelings for me beyond that of a mate, and I will not be a third wheel, not even for Draco. Let me step back. Please. Let me do this for the two of you.”

Neville reached forward and took Draco’s hand and placed it in Harry’s. He could see something pass between the two men but for the first time he had no clue as to what Draco was thinking. Which is for the best, he told himself quietly as he stepped back.

“Nev.”

Before he could respond, Harry was standing in front of him, holding either side of his face within his hands. Gardener’s hands, Neville thought inanely. Harry held his gaze for several moments before he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Neville’s.

“Wha--”

But Harry used the opportunity to slip his tongue into Neville’s mouth, filling him with a confident determination that not only surprised him, but made his breath catch as well. Neville tried to pull his head back, but Harry simply followed him, nibbling on his upper lip.

Something stopped all backward movement and Neville realized it was the post. He groaned involuntarily and Harry moved his hands to Neville’s hair, deepening the kiss until Neville responded. Tentatively at first, but soon he lost himself in the sensual sensation. Neville always suspected that Harry would be good at snogging, for he possessed a certain desperateness that was intoxicating, as if he couldn’t get enough.

Neville raised his hands to clutch at the back of Harry’s jumper, but his left hand was intercepted. Soft lips pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand and he groaned again, his knees feeling too weak to support him. Draco moved closer, and pressed a series of small kisses from Neville’s cheek to his chin, then from Harry’s chin to his cheek. Both he and Harry wrapped an arm around Draco and pulled him into their clutch. Tongues mingled until Neville had no idea who he was kissing or who was kissing him.

Finally, he took a tiny step back, panting hard, although his forehead still leaned against Draco and Harry’s.

Draco purred happily and Harry’s low chuckle made Neville tremble.

“What will people--?”

“Sod ‘em.”

“Harry, what about you two?”

“Malfoy’s always been a greedy git, but in this particular case I’m pretty sure I can accommodate him.”

Neville was distracted by Harry’s right hand as it wandered up and down his chest. “But you don’t love me,” he finally managed.

“Yet.”

“Pardon me?”

“I may not be in love with you yet, but Draco is. And I know that it won’t take me very long.”

Neville looked into Draco’s grey eyes, which were pleading with him to be brave enough to take this step with them. And for the first time in his life, he threw convention aside without a second though. “Alright then. Alright.”

 

 **EPILOGUE**

“It’s here!” Harry shouted the moment he stepped through the gate. He was waving something in the air, but Neville was trying to rescue an overly adventurous gnome from a pink munching mum. How in the world it had gotten this far into the garden was a mystery Neville knew he wouldn’t solve anytime soon.

With a pop, the mum released the tiny half-naked, slightly-munched gnome.

“What’s here?” Neville stood and tossed the gnome over the fence. As an afterthought he reached down and flung the boots over as well.

“Herbology Today.”

“The one with our article in it?”

Harry greeted him with a quick kiss. “The very one, love.”

“Draco! Draco!” Neville called out happily.

Draco and Tinker appeared at the kitchen door. Draco frowned over being so crassly summoned, but Neville ignored the pout.

“Come see what Harry brought?”

He and Harry shared a secret smile as they both watched the sway of Draco’s hips as he approached them. In the six months the three of them had been living at Grimmauld Place, Neville had come to appreciate how physical both Harry and Draco were in everything they did.

Neville couldn’t remember any other time in his life when he had been quite so content. Draco had taken to restudying potions, while Harry and Neville split their time between the greenhouse and the gardens surrounding their home. Their physical relationship had been eye opening, but it was the companionship and the love that filled Neville with a sense of wonder.

As Draco joined them, Neville raised his hands and anxiously wiggled his fingers at Harry, knowing that Harry would have the article already marked.

With great flourish, Harry opened the magazine and revealed the two page spread which was entitled Taming the Wild Dragon Snap. The main picture was of Draco tickling a particular nasty snap. Other pictures showed the three of them working around the greenhouse, but it was the byline that made Neville smile. By Mssrs. Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

“You know,” Neville said happily, “they mentioned they’d like an article about transplanting for the spring issue as well.”

“I never thought I’d have a reputation as a Herbologist,” Harry laughed.

Neville smiled as Draco plucked the magazine from Harry’s hands and studied the pictures. It was amazing what the right environment could do for a soul.

~ End ~

 

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